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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167291">Little Blue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpiedance/pseuds/Magpiedance'>Magpiedance</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other, Serenading, Some spoilers for early game, gender-neutral V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:08:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpiedance/pseuds/Magpiedance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny's bored. Johnny wants to play for you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johnny Silverhand/Reader, Johnny Silverhand/V</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Little Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <em>your smile is like heaven</em>
</p><p>
  <em>but your eyes hold a storm about to brew</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>Spoilers for up to and including the first time V meets Johnny. I haven't actually gotten much farther than that in the game so no spoilers in the comments, please :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Not that you're fuckin' surprised but Johnny doesn't like stakeouts.</p><p>He doesn't like this burnt-out Motel overlooking the parking lot either but it has the best vantage spot and he's not in charge. <em>Yet</em>, you try not to think.</p><p>In your mind's eye he's pacing the room with its smoke-blackened walls in that unhappy puma way he does, taking everything in with his signature look of displeasure. You keep watch out the window even though it's hours before anyone's going to show up because it's better than looking at him. The infamous legend that's slowly killing you from inside.</p><p>"This is fucking boring, jesus," he moans, not for the first time today. "Why are we here so fucking early?"</p><p>You don't answer him. He's not really asking.</p><p>There's a surprisingly undamaged old-fashioned acoustic guitar poking out from behind the unaccountably damp sofa (you have to assume the roof doesn't keep out the rain as well as it used to). You pick it up for something to do and start plucking at the strings experimentally.</p><p>"What are you doing, you don't know how to play that thing," Johnny growls with a note of irritation.</p><p>You give him a pointed look.</p><p>"No," you say, "but <em>you</em> do."</p><p>You're sick and tired of his bitching. If it's not one thing it's another with him. Never fucking happy.</p><p>He looks interested now though.</p><p>You fiddle with the tuning keys and strum a few chords. It's almost distressing how easy it is to tap into Johnny's muscle memory. You barely have to think about it at all. The guitar's in bad shape but you manage to wrangle a tune out of it.</p><p>You might not know how to play but every nomad knows how to sing. You search Johnny's back catalogue for something pleasant and settle on a soothing tune he wrote while stoned out of his gourd one night.</p><p>"Shit," he says, almost at a whisper, "that's an old one, I forgot I even wrote that one."</p><p>He worked out the tune after climbing into an ornamental fish pond on a rooftop terrace. He remembers, <em>and you remember</em>, watching the fish nibble at his bootless toes mesmerised by the broken reflection of the moon dancing on the water's surface.</p><p>He remembers, <em>and you remember, </em>writing some lovesick nonsense to go along with it as an ode to a girl he tumbled in the backseat of his first car who's name he had already forgotten.</p><p>"<em>Alice..." </em>he says, <em>and you say</em>. The car's name, not the girl's.</p><p>He never saw her again after that night but he remembered her always. She had the most perfect breasts he'd ever seen. Or maybe he just remembered it that way because he was drunk as hell. He still had both his arms then. You feel a pang of regret, or maybe he does, or maybe it doesn't matter who any more.</p><p>You look up at him then, or the image of him, and he seems surprised by the soft expression on his own face as seen through your eyes.</p><p>"Hey," he says quietly, "hey, let me?"</p><p>You hesitate, unsure, your fingers stilling on the strings. The anguish that emanates from him when he thinks you won't allow it changes your mind.</p><p>"Okay," you say, trying to stiffle that spike of fear that creeps up your neck at the thought of being puppeted by him.</p><p>"Calm the fuck down scaredy-cat, " he says settling in to your body, "It'll be fine. I'll play, you sing."</p><p>You hadn't considered that possibility. His fingers now dancing on the strings but your mouth opens and closes at your own whim. You're so surprised by his unusually accommodating mood that you don't even notice at first what he's playing.</p><p>"Hey!" You say. "This isn't one of yours?"</p><p>You can't see him smile but you feel his delight.</p><p>"No," he says. "I guess it's one of yours."</p><p>Not a song you wrote, a song you remember, <em>and he remembers too</em>. A clear memory from way back when, one of the few pleasant ones your childhood had to offer which is why you hold it so very dear. The song came on the radio as the rain that night tapped a pleasing staccato rhythm on the windshield of the car. Your father's comforting presence in the front seat, the scent of his leather jacket covering you where you lay in the back. You treasured that time with him, every precious second of it.</p><p>"Jump in any time you like," Johnny reminds you gently, and the first verse comes flooding back to you even though you hadn't thought about that song in an age.</p><p>You clear your throat and sing.</p><p>It might all be okay after all, you think, just for a moment. You can feel a warmth and fondness flowing from him to you that almost makes your voice tremble with emotion. Even if you lose yourself completely you won't be <em>gone-</em>gone. He'll always remember moments like these. He'll always remember that night in the car with your father and this song on the radio.</p><p>He'll remember for you.</p><p>He'll remember you.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pB9UnEVq0hM">Little Blue</a> by The Beautiful South. (Whoops fucked up the link the first time it's fixed now)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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